China Plates
by KKBELVIS
Summary: Tag to 4:22. Dean pov. Family/angst/with a dash of hurt comfort, Sam.


CHINA PLATES

By: Karen B.

Summary: Tag to 4:22. Dean pov. Family/angst/some hurt comfort, Sam.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Supernatural in any way, shape, or form -- but they sure do own me. Zipping around inside of my head, driving me nine counts of batty -- until I journal what it is they are doing and saying, feeling and thinking. Weird-o strange, huh?

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"Dean," Sam said, in a low tone. "I need to hit the head. You find us a table." Sam walked off.

"Like that's going to be a problem," I muttered, glancing around the empty lunchbox sized diner. "Just don't let it hang long," I called after Sam. "I want to be back on the road in thirty."

Sam waved a hand in acknowledgement, disappearing around the corner. I stared after him a minute. The kid was a wreck -- we both were. Neither one of us was exactly going to be hanging in the hall of heroes like we'd thought. The chief inhabitants of heaven and hell were both going to be on our pathetic, sorry assed, tails.

"We are so fubar," I muttered, moving to sit at an empty corner booth.

Place was quiet. I thought it odd Sam and I were the only ones in here. The chef behind the counter reminded me of Arnold from that fifties show Happy Days, and our waitress coincidentally looked like second season Ginger.

"Friggin' angels," I smirked, picking up a small grease smudged menu. They didn't know everything. "Maryann was always the hot one," I said under my breath.

"What can I get for you?" I looked up to see Ginger -- her nametag read, Jenny.

I ordered two coffees, a burger for me, and short-stack for Sam. Kid never could tell the difference between breakfast and dinner.

"Very good," Jenny laughed, and walked away.

"What's so damn funny?" I asked myself, fidgeting with the red checkered tablecloth.

Jenny quickly returned with two cups of coffee. There was something about her eyes, and the faint smile playing on her pink lipstick colored lips that made me fumble nervously with my cup.

"Your order will be right up," she said, her hips swaying to and fro as she disappeared behind the counter.

I looked around the restaurant. A cool breeze floated in through an open window, but I could still feel the explosive heat of brimstone and fire. Could still smell the oh, so familiar sulfur seeping out of the cement fissure. Could still hear the screams of tortured souls, and Lucifer laughing over the pounding of my heart. The instant fourty-year old memory was back. Snarling, snapping, slicing and slashing -- a real blood-fest. I spilled a few drops of coffee trying to control my trembling hand, my thoughts transported back to the convent just a few short hours ago.

XX

Sam and I froze as the kingdom of hell poured fourth. Peering down into the crack, I could see the half-human creatures, thousands of them, clawing over one another in no order or reason. All of hell trying to escape. Somewhere in the world of the undead, the worst of the worst, a shadowless, souless, dark angel -- lead the pack. I cast a quick glance at Sam. He was in worse shape than me. Sam was hunched over, a mere shadow of grief and pain. He moaned, sounding as frightened and helpless as that six-year-old boy that I had to wake from a nightmare one too many times. The concrete floor of the convent cracked and popped, the fissure growing wider. I could see red-hot flames -- and worse, the hairs on my arms started to burn, my eyes damn near bleeding tears.

"Sam!" I gathered my wits. "Move!"

Sam, surprisingly did as he was told -- me right beside him hanging onto his arm, dragging him along.

We made quick work of beating feet through the doorway, and outside of the convent. The surrounding trees shivered, the ground rocked, and somewhere not far off, I swore I heard the hungry growl of hellhounds. Sam wasn't fairing well. His movements drunk and uncoordinated. I navigated us both the best I could as the convent crumbled behind us. Glass shattered and loose stone fell from the top of the building. We had to get to the Impala. I was glad I chose to park my baby several hundred yards away behind an abadoned shack. If I'd parked right next to the convent --- my baby might be scrap metal by now

Sam was breathing hard, stumbling along, his feet taking turns dragging the ground.

"Sam?" I gripped his arm tighter. "You okay?"

"What?" Sam glanced at me momentarily, just before his eyes rolled back into his head and his knees dipped.

"Where are you going?" I pulled his arm around my neck. "C'mon, man!" I yelled, forcing my brother to stay on his feet. "Move! Sam!" I yelled louder, finally getting the proper response from my fading brother.

"Dean?" Sam lifted his head, struggling to keep his feet under him.

"Dude, do I have your attention now?" We reached the car.

"I…I…Dean, I'm sorry."

"Shh." I opened the passenger door and shoved Sam inside, just as the whole friggin' place came down like an avalanche of steel, glass, and stone. "Don't worry."I slammed the door shut, got behind the wheel, and drove us as fast and as far away from the convent as possible.

XX

I'd almost lost my brother, for good this time.

I shuddered away the images, taking another sip of coffee. Right now, I needed to get some food in us. Sam needed to rest, he had a hell of a headache, the kind that a bottle of aspirin wouldn't help. And me, I felt like a chewed piece of gum stuck to the bottom of three-inch spiked heels. I took a few more sips of coffee noting it had gone cold and our food hadn't arrived. I glanced at my watch. Sam had been hitting the head, to long. Ten minutes -- too long. Something was all wrong. I got up from the table and headed toward the bathroom. As I approached the john, something built inside of me like a gathering storm. I opened the door and walked into the men's room.

"Sam?"

No answer.

I looked in each stall.

Nothing.

Turning around, I caught a reflection in the mirror. Before I could think, a hand grabbed my jacket and shoved my back up against the moldy tiles. I was shocked to see Ginger, 'eh, Jenny. Her beady-ink black eyes staring into mine. I tried to jerk away but she shoved me harder, the tile breaking from the blow.

"Where's, Sam?" I grunted, struggling to get away from her. "Where's my brother?" My voice seethed with anger.

The-movie-star-demon-bitch didn't smile, didn't say a word. Just kept staring.

I jerked again as hard as I could, grabbing Ginger/Jenny by her pretty orange hair and driving her face into the closest wall. Yanking her back from the bloody mark left there, I pulled her close to my face.

"Where… is… my brother?" I spat.

"You'll never find him alive this time. No angel will help you," she said with an evil smile. "Sam is lost to you," she laughed, disappearing from my site.

"Sonofabitch!" Wasting no time, I ran out the bathroom door. Out of the diner and down the street, not sure where I was heading, and unable to run fast enough.

The hard pavement beneath my feet turned to dirt, sticks, and dried leaves. I felt dizzy and sick. I had to stop and rest. I propped myself up against a large tree trunk, pulse racing, breathing hard and shaking uncontrollably.

"Sam, where the hell are you?"

Gone. My brother was gone -- again. Taken right out from under my nose.

"Oh, God," I mumbled, staring into the night sky.

"God has left the building, Dean." A distant voice echoed. "No one has your back. You're all alone in this world. Sam is no longer, Sam. He is Lucifer's chosen one."

"No!" I sobbed, panting for breath.

"All alone," the voice repeated over and over.

"I said, no!" Where's my brother. Give me back my brother!" Trying to catch my breath, I glanced down. On the grassy ground lying near my boots was something that made me want to blow chunks out my mouth. "Sam!"

Slam!

Bam!

I violently jolted awake, breathing heavy, my hands gripping the steering wheel of the Impala. Now who was the six-year-old having nightmares.

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"Dean!" Sam jolted awake next to me, demon-killing knife gripped tight in his hand. "What? What, is it?" His body wired, wild eyes darting all around.

"Easy. Easy, Jet Lee," I soothed, trying to get my own body to relax. "Just a nightmare."

"Me or you?" Sam sighed, leaning back against the seat.

"Maybe both," I murmered, fumbling for the water bottle next to me.

I glanced out the front windshield. The darkness was grating, and the rumble of tires high above us on the bridge we were parked under echoed off the giant, graffiti coated concrete supports. I took a swig of water, handing the bottle over to Sam.

"No." Sam shook his head, the veins in his neck looking like coiled springs about to pop."Dean." Sad eyes peered at me through the darkness. "Lucifer. I brought Lucifer here," he sobbed. "I didn't listen. Everyone, the angels, Pamela, you. I wouldn't listen." A shudder ran through Sam's body. "I've changed. I'm a bloodthirsty …"

"You're my brother." I quickly swivelrd in my seat to face Sam. "That's all," I said, narrowing my eyes. "And we're not doing this fandango dance with demons and angels anymore. Because the next thing you know, Sam, they'll have us wearing pink boxers and playing Twister. We trust no one but you, me, and Bobby. From now on. Get it?"

"Dean…"Sam looked past me out into the night. "What are my options? I drink demon blood, and I don't even need to. It's in me. Just... in me. You yourself said I was a vampire. A monster."

"What? No! When did I say that?"

"Your last voicemail message." Sam turned watery eyes toward me.

"That's not the message I left, Sam. That message is a lie, and you know it. More demon bullshit. I called. But I called to tell you I was sorry. That I didn't mean what I said about you walking out that door and not coming back. I called to tell you…"

"You were going to hunt me."

"No!" I pounded a fist to the steering wheel. "I said, no, Sam. No more dangling in the wind, letting angels and demons come between us. We're not going to hurt each other anymore. I won't do it." I swallowed and squared my shoulders. "I'll be damned…" I took a breath. "Again, if I let that happen. We were clusterfucked. Ruby, the angels…they screwed us both six-ways to doomsday!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, the words coming straight and fast from my gut. "Both of us, Sam. We both were wrong. They welded us both in the air like china plates on sticks. No more! Just -- no more. It's our turn to set the ground fire." I shoved the water bottle toward Sam. "Now, drink!" Sam shut his eyes, and I let a few moments painfully crawl by. "Drink it."

"Dean."

"Sam." I clamped a hand to his shoulder. "Please." I lowered my voice, pushing the bottle toward him again. "Just drink it."

Sam opened his eyes, palmed the bottle between his shaking hands and downed the water in one gulp.

"I know we both said some things. Knocked each other on our keesters." Sam avoided my gaze. "But…" I ran my tongue over my lips. "But I won't lose you, Sam. We're still brothers, family, right? I didn't lose you -- did I?"

Sam didn't answer.

I bit my lip, taking the bottle from him, and tossing the empty container in the back seat.

"Just..." Sam wrung his hands together in an uneasy manner. I couldn't help but think he was heading back into withdrawl. "No. You didn't lose me, Dean."

"You sure?" I questioned, gripping his hands and holding them steady.

"There's a lot of things --" Sam paused.

"We'll figure it out, Sam," I said. "Lucifer won't win. He's nothing more than meat in a lion's cage."

"Not anymore he's not. Thanks to me, we're the meat, he's the lion." Sam flung my words back at me, suddenly turning white as death. "Ghrrrrrr," he groaned, twisitng away, hands frantically fumbling with the door handle.

"Hey, you're not going to…"

Before I could finish my sentence, or find a barf-bag, Sam had the door open, gripping the handle and half-hanging out.

"Pretty sure… I just did," he muttered, quickly sitting back up and shutting the door.

I had to hand it to Sam, he always could puke with grace and style. Guess over the years he learned how to keep it quiet. Always hiding things from me -- even as a boy…and now as a man.

"You okay?" I asked. Sam didn't answer, falling sideways. "Hey!" I clutched at his jacket keeping him from smacking his head against the window. "How you doin', really?"

"Pretty bad -- so far." Sam wiped his mouth with his jacket's sleeve.

"You going to make it, you oaf?"

Sam was shaking and kept swallowing down hard, but finally was able to answer.

"I hope so," he said in a hoarse voice.

"I know so, bro." I tugged Sam over until he leaned against me.

"Now what?" Sam asked.

"You know the drill." I started the engine, put the Impala in gear, and headed us back out onto the road. "Motel, shower, sleep," I informed. "Food can wait." After my nightmare, I wasn't taking any chances.

"Romantic England," Sam mumbled.

"Huh?" I frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Sam? You hit your head? Bro, how many fingers?" I held up three.

"If I tell you -- do I get a lollipop?" Sam smirked.

"Sorry, all out," I said, still frowning, wondering if he was hallucinating again already. "What's with all this romantic talk?" I asked. "You hopping the fence on me, Sam?" I tried to joke, not feeling funny at all.

"You said we were being welded around like china plates -- china plates come in a million different patterns, "Sam slurred.

"Sam, you are so not, butch." I gave a small chuckle, turning onto State Route Eight.

I so needed to get Sam to a motel. He needed to rest. He was more wacked out then I thought -- we both were.

"Jess," Sam said her name with reverence. "Her favorite pattern was Romantic England, " he sighed deeply.

"Sammy," I whispered sadly, considering the only reason Jessica would have picked out a favorite pattern -- wedding gift.

"What kind…what kind of china are we, Dean?" Sam asked, melting against me -- out cold.

I glanced down at Sam, brushing away that one piece of hair that was forever hanging in the kid's left eye.

"The unbreakable kind, dude."

The end.

**Shrug...I know -- Ooey -- Gooey! Couldn't help myself...**


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